He talked with a purpose at table, and in a moment he saw that she understood and responded. It needed but a short time to convince him that Mrs. Belassis was a clever woman, and that she had some suspicions of her own respecting the character of her supposed nephew: though in what channel her suspicions ran, it was not the time and place then to discover. Opportunity, however, was not long wanting, for an offer of escort home gave him the chance to speak to his aunt alone, and find out, if possible, what it was she really thought respecting Tor. The interview was not entirely satisfactory, for, do what he would, Phil could not shake off the old distrust of his aunt; and the idea of plotting against Tor with a Belassis was so repugnant to all the instincts of his nature, that he could not bring himself to speak out plainly. He saw that Mrs. Belassis was upon the wrong tack in her suspicions. She had no idea, as yet, of the trick that had been played upon the family; and Phil had, therefore, the acuteness to wonder how it was she so hated Tor, as to be willing to ally herself against him, and that with a perfect stranger. She must have a motive, and an interested one, else she would not trouble herself over the matter. What was it to her if Mr. Torwood was wronged? It was no business of hers to arbitrate between two friends. So he plucked up his courage and put the question, and learned by the answer that Tor had treated with contumely his next of kin. He could not help inwardly rejoicing that the Belassis faction had been so treated, for his soul abhorred them, even whilst his reason tried to persuade him into taking them into his confidence. How he would have answered Mrs. Belassis he never had to decide; for as she finished her tirade against her ungrateful nephew, Tor himself came striding down the lane, and Phil felt himself crimsoning all over. Suppose Tor could know him! Fancy such a juxtaposition! Phil in league with a Belassis against his old friend! A sudden sense of shame fell upon him, as he met for an instant the keen, quick glance from Tor’s eyes. There was no guilt, no shame in Tor’s face; but the frank, open courage and truthfulness which had always characterized it. No, come what might, he could not plot against his friend. He would speak to him openly, face to face. Phil’s better angel was now in the ascendant, and he bid Mrs. Belassis a hasty adieu, whilst some words she had uttered, which had passed almost unnoticed before, now recurred to him with considerable significance. ‘Spends Mr. Torwood’s money almost more freely than his own,’ he muttered in French; and then he added in vigorous English, ‘The deuce he does!’